


Five More Minutes

by DracoIgnis, Dragon_and_Direwolf



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Dating, F/M, First Meetings, Flirting, Humor, Romance, Speed Dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27153830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/pseuds/Dragon_and_Direwolf
Summary: On suggestion from his brother Robb, Jon attends a speed dating event. None of the women interest him - until he meets Daenerys. But what does he do when five minutes isn't enough time to secure a second date?
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 67
Kudos: 324





	Five More Minutes

Ten minutes into the introduction, Jon had sweated through his shirt. He tried to discreetly drag his suit jacket more closely around his frame without causing his glass of wine to spill over, but he sensed the woman next to him noticed what he was doing. She gave him a pointed stare before stepping away. _That’s one off the list,_ Jon thought, pressing his elbows stiffly to his side as he feigned interest in the speaker.

 _Speed dating._ It had been Robb’s idea - of course. Ever since meeting Margaery at an event in London, he’d been pestering Jon about finding _true love._ Whereas before they would spend the evenings on the sofa, getting drunk and watching reruns of _Seinfeld,_ he now seemed to think such get-togethers were a waste of time. Now, everything had to be planned and a restaurant booked (four stars on Tripadvisor, _minimum),_ and instead of joking about George Constanza’s glasses, they would discuss family, marriage, _babies._

Jon shuddered and had a swig of his wine. The thought alone made him feel parched.

“Ladies, if you could please take a seat,” the woman behind the microphone smiled, and a clicking of heels filled the bar as dresses flourished past Jon, drowning in him a scent of perfume, “and gentlemen - you only have five minutes, so make it count.”

“That’s what she said,” someone coughed from the group.

Jon pushed his nose deeper into the glass, thinking: _This is going to be a long night._

The wine bar was tucked away underground. From the cool stone ceiling, large vintage light bulbs teased the air with an orange gleam. It was meant to set the mood, Jon knew, the glow so dim it wouldn’t compete with the flickering candles on the wooden tables. But he just felt blind, scrambling his way through the group of men towards a random seat.

The women were lined up at the wall. He felt like he was asked to pick from a grocery store shelf. Annoyed at playing into this _game of love,_ he forced himself not to look at his partner until he was seated. He had another sip of his wine. He waited for the speaker to call:

“Start!” into the microphone. Only then did he peer up.

The woman before him was thin and tall, with long red hair, red lipstick, red nails, and a red dress. Her neckline was cut deep. As Jon watched her, he sensed she purposely tugged the fabric further apart, revealing more of her cleavage.

He cleared his throat. He muttered: “Hello.”

“Good evening,” she replied. She sipped her wine. Her lipstick did not leave a mark on the glass. “I’m Melisandre,” she then said.

“Nice to meet you,” Jon nodded curtly. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling nervous, but his heart was racing in his chest. He peered around at the other couples before looking down at the card on the table. It was named GET TALKING and listed seven different questions to get the conversation going. As he mulled over the icebreakers, Melisandre leaned in over the candles and smirked:

“Are you not going to introduce yourself?”

“Oh, right,” Jon flushed. He awkwardly held out his hand, and Melisandra gave it a light squeeze, her nails dragging across his palm as she let go. “I’m Jon. Sorry, it’s my first time doing this.”

“Introducing yourself?”

“Speed dating,” Jon clarified, the blush creeping further across his face. He could feel it again - _sweat._ It seemed to run down his arms on the inside of his sleeves. He shuffled on his chair. “Have you done it before?”

“Oh, yes,” Melisandre replied, her white teeth peeking out between her red lips. “Many, _many_ times.”

“So it doesn’t work,” Jon concluded.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, you’re still single I take it?”

Melisandre’s smile grew. “I’m not here for a relationship,” she said.

“Oh,” Jon said confused, followed by: _“Oh.”_ He looked down. The redness had reached his ears. He was certain he was glowing more brightly than the lights above. He dragged the card off the table and fiddled with it, tearing at its corners as he read it with more desperation. _How long has it been,_ he wondered. It felt like hours already, sitting before Melisandre, her sultry eyes watching him as she smirked. _How much longer?_

“I’ll start,” Melisandre suddenly said, and she snatched the card out of Jon’s hand and gave it a long look as she hummed in thought. “How about this one: _do you kiss on the first date?”_

Jon smacked his lips. He didn’t remember seeing the question, but as Melisandre watched him patiently, he replied: “It depends.”

“On the woman?”

“On a lot of things.”

“Hmm.” Melisandre flickered the card in the air, fanning herself with it as she watched him. Before Jon could think so ask something, she continued: “How about fucking. Do you fuck on the first date?”

“That’s not on the card,” Jon protested.

“The best ones rarely are.”

Jon grabbed his glass and took a slow sip, pretending to be really thinking about the question, but the moment the microphone bellowed:

“Gentlemen, it’s time to swap!” he jumped to his feet and sent Melisandre an apologetic look.

“It was nice to meet you,” he said.

Melisandre smirked, picked up her pen, and gave it a light bite at the end as she said: “You too, _Jon,”_ before scratching down some notes on her card. He didn’t linger to see what she wrote - he just put a big, fat NO by her name on his own before shuffling off to the neighbouring table.

The next woman was square-faced and dressed in a suit. When Jon offered his hand, she squeezed it with a strength unlike Melisandre’s. “I’m Yara,” she said.

“Jon,” Jon replied, and he eagerly pulled his hand free of her iron grip. His knuckles looked white. He settled on the chair and watched her with hesitation as he rubbed the blood back into his fingers. “Is this your first time?” he asked.

“No, but I’ve had a break from men for a while,” Yara said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m trying to expand my horizon, as they say.”

“You’re bisexual?”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” Yara licked her teeth as she surveyed the wine on the table. The women each had four glasses lined up - one white, two red, and a flute of bubbly. Jon noticed how two of her glasses were already empty. “I’m guessing you are too.”

“I am what?”

 _“Expanding your horizon.”_ Yara picked up the bubbly and sent Jon a knowing look as she nodded toward the table he’d just left. “There’s no way you sat in front of _that_ and didn’t feel a tickle somewhere. Are you new to women?”

“I’m new to _speed dating,”_ Jon replied with a grimace. _What’s with the accusations?_ he thought, playing with his own glass of wine as Yara settled back in her chair and stared longingly at his previous date. He glanced down at the questions on the table. To fill the silence with something, he picked one at random to read out aloud: _“What’s your favourite wine?”_

“The free kind.”

_“What colour best describes your personality?”_

“Grey,” she replied just as swiftly. “It’s in my name, _Yara Greyjoy._ When you live on a rotten island like this, you have to find joy in the sombre things.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Jon mumbled, still looking at the questions. “How about: _What is your dream-”_

“Do you really want to know?” Yara dragged her eyes back to Jon and sent him a wry smile from behind her glass. “I’m starting to feel like I’m at an interview, but I don’t even want the job.”

“Point taken,” Jon said, throwing the card down with a sigh as he leaned back in his chair. The seconds went by slowly. By the time:

“Swap!” was announced, both Yara and he had already crossed out each other’s name on the list. As Jon made his way to the next table he thought: _It can’t get any worse than this._

* * *

But it could.

Six more women. Five minutes each. Over the next half an hour, Jon met Brienne who was nice but already in love, the name ‘Jaime’ circled on her card and all others crossed out in advance. Then there was Gilly, socially awkward and quiet, her eyes mistrustful whenever he asked her a question. Cersei had lied herself into the age-range of ‘under 35s’, Shae was bored just from one look at him, and Ellaria insisted that she only dated men who were willing to share her husband. Jon didn’t stick around to ask what she meant by that.

Then, there was _her._

By the time Jon reached her, he had already given up hope. He didn’t even glance her way as he held out his hand and announced: “Jon,” his eyes already focused on the icebreakers before him. He heard her chuckle:

 _“That_ bad?” and, as a soft hand closed around his own, finally glanced up into her eyes and felt his throat snare shut.

The woman before him was _stunning;_ silver hair tied back in a low ponytail, plump pink lips, and violet eyes that peered out at him from between her thick, black lashes. The white minidress made her look expensive, and the grey coat hanging on her shoulders classy. When she caught him staring, she flushed and shrugged:

“I’m always cold.”

“Funny,” Jon said, “I’m always hot.”

“You don’t say,” the woman smiled. “I’m Daenerys.”

“Jon,” Jon said, still shaking her hand.

Daenerys nodded. “I know.”

“You do?”

“You already said.”

“Oh, right.” Jon forced himself to pull away, but his hand felt strangely empty as he seated himself at the table. He grabbed his glass of wine just to have _something_ to hold on to, his fingers suddenly fidgety.

Daenerys cocked her head. “So,” she said, still watching him between her bashing lashes, “is your evening going well?”

“No,” Jon said at once before quickly continuing: “I mean, yes. _Maybe._ Maybe.” He could’ve kicked himself. Before coming, Robb walked him through the _dos and don’ts_ of dating. _Do_ ask your date a lot of questions. _Don’t_ be negative. _Do_ be yourself, but _don’t_ brood. In truth, a lot of the advice given contradicted Jon’s personality, but he knew one thing for certain: no one likes a spoilsport. So he tried to walk the middle way as he mused: “It’s hard to say.”

“Mhmm,” Daenerys hummed as a reply and sipped her wine. “I know what you mean.”

“Yeah,” Jon mumbled weakly, and he copied Daenerys as he gulped down the red wine, the alcohol giving him a buzz of courage to continue. He grabbed the card and started at the top, his gaze darting between the question and Daenerys. “So, Daenerys-” he started, but she interrupted:

“Call me Dany.”

“Dany,” Jon said. It felt strangely intimate. He _liked_ it. “Right, Dany, tell me - are you a night owl or an early bird?”

“Oh! I rise with the sun,” Daenerys said. “How about you?”

“I’m from the North. If I rose with the sun, I’d sometimes never get up.” He waited for Daenerys to laugh but, when she just nodded, meekly said: “I prefer to sleep in. Uh, right, how about: _what’s your dream holiday?”_

“That one is easy,” Daenerys said and swirled the wine around her glass with a look of satisfaction on her face: “All inclusive resort in Thailand.”

“What, _all inclusive?”_ Jon said surprised. “In _Thailand?_ You’d go all that way just to eat a hotel’s bland buffet food?”

“How do you know it’s bland?” Daenerys asked with a slight scowl. “It was _my_ dream holiday you asked about. That’s what it is.”

“If you go to Thailand, you have to eat the street food,” Jon protested. “You can find the most amazing stalls in Bangkok. There are places that have perfected their chicken skewers over _generations._ No all inclusive resort, no matter how fancy, can beat _that.”_

“Oh yeah? And how do you know so much about food?” Daenerys shot back with a quirked brow.

Jon sent her a blank look. “I’m a chef,” he said.

Both of Daenerys’ brows rose. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t expect that.”

“What _did_ you expect?” Jon asked. He could tell he’d caught her by surprise; she peered at him with her cheeks slightly pink, and he couldn’t help but smile wryly when she replied:

“Mechanic, maybe.” She looked embarrassed to admit it.

Jon puffed himself up slightly. “How’s that?”

“Your hands. They’re very rough.”

“Not all is what it seems on the surface.”

“I know,” Daenerys replied, “so what do you think _I_ do?”

This time, Jon was the one to flush. As he looked at her, he imagined several of stereotypical jobs someone like _her_ would be in; interior design, makeup artist, modelling. He knew if he was to admit it, he’d get a smirk back: _who’s got preconceived ideas now?_ So he lied: “Librarian.”

 _“Librarian?”_ Daenerys repeated with a stunned laugh. “Bullshit.”

“No,” Jon said, and he gave her a long, hard stare as he pretended to really be reading her features, from the slightly turned nose to the tips of her littlefingers. He nodded. “Yep,” he said with confidence, “you’ve got the look.”

 _“What_ look?”

“Of someone very stubborn and strict.”

Daenerys blinked. Then, a chuckle broke out across her lips. “Well,” she said, and she picked up her glass of wine, “I suppose _that_ part is true.” She drank to hide her amused look, but Jon noticed it, and it made him smile.

“So, what _do_ you do?” he asked when she put the drink down.

“Interior design,” Daenerys replied.

Jon clapped his hands and shouted: “I _knew it!”_ It was a little louder than he intended it to be. As the couples at the other tables peered over, he lowered his voice and quietly continued: “I just knew it.”

Daenerys laughed. “You said _librarian.”_

“Yes, because I didn’t want to come off judgemental,” Jon explained, “but I was _thinking_ interior designer.”

“Huh,” Daenerys said, and she sent him a look that was partially impressed, partially incredulous. She held out her hand. “My turn,” she said and gestured for the card, and Jon handed it over and waited for her to read through the options.

In the quiet seconds that followed, Jon pretended to be reading his comment card while peeking at her from above its rim. He liked the way the shadows flickered across her skin, and the few strands of hair that had loosened from the elastic band and now hung at her cheek, and the way her violet eyes glimmered when she looked up and caught him staring. He blushed, but he didn’t glance away, and Daenerys sent him a soft smile.

“Okay, Jon,” she said and straightened up, “here’s a tough one: _tell me your best Dad joke.”_

“My friend asked me the other day if I’d had a haircut. I told him no - I had them _all_ cut.”

Daenerys looked at him perplexed. “That was quick,” she said.

Jon shrugged. “I have a lot of siblings. My dad’s been through them all.” He paused and tiredly added: “On _repeat.”_

“Try another one,” Daenerys asked.

“Uh, right - what do you get when you cross the Atlantic with the Titanic?”

“What?”

“About halfway.”

Daenerys pursed her lips. “I was on the bus the other day,” she said, “and the bus driver looked at my child and said: _that’s the ugliest baby I have ever seen.”_

Jon was caught off-guard. He blinked: “You have a baby?” and saw the smirk on Daenerys’ lips grow.

“So, I sat down in the back, and I turned to the guy next to me and said: _the driver just insulted me!_ And he said: _Go tell him off. Don’t worry - I’ll hold your mole-rat.”_

Jon let go of a surprised laugh. “I haven’t heard that one before,” he admitted.

“I know another one,” Daenerys said excitedly and leaned closer. “So, a man enters a sperm bank-”

“Swap!” The voice bellowed across the room. As Daenerys lips snapped shut, Jon had to resist the urge to walk up, grab the microphone, and rip its cord out. He looked at her, half expecting her to finish the joke, half expecting her to turn him away. But she just peered back at him, a small smile on her lips, and she held out her hand as she said:

“It was very nice to meet you, Jon.”

“You too, Dany,” Jon said, and he gave it a pained squeeze. He found it hard to pull back, and, he noted, Daenerys didn’t resist either, her soft palm fitting nicely into his own. It felt weird, he thought, saying goodbye to the only normal conversation he’d had all night. So he lingered, carefully filling out his comment card whilst trying to sneak a peek at hers. But the room was too dark, and the next guy too impatient. He’d barely gotten up from his seat before a broad man with a red beard grabbed the seat and said:

“‘Ello lovely,” and roughly shook Daenerys’ hand.

Jon suckled on his teeth as he watched the two of them settle into conversation, and he hesitantly scooted over to the next table.

The woman sitting before him had red curls and an upturned nose. As he sat down, she said: “I’m Ygritte.”

“Hey,” Jon muttered, but his eyes were still stuck on Daenerys and her silver hair glowing in the light.

Ygritte smacked her lips impatiently. “Not much of a gentleman, are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You could look at me, you know.”

Jon gritted his teeth together. _Don’t be rude,_ he told himself, and he forced a smile onto his lips as he turned to face Ygritte. “Right, sorry,” he said, “I’m Jon.”

“So, Jon,” Ygritte said, leaning back in her chair with her arms folded. “What would you like to know?”

“Well,” Jon said, and he stared down at the card of questions. _What animal best describes you?_ He wondered what Daenerys would say. _What is your favourite film?_ He guessed she liked romantic movies and, in truth so did he. _What do you do for fun?_

Ygritte tapped her foot to the floor and raised her brows. “Well?” she said.

“Well,” Jon repeated, and he looked up at Ygritte before shaking his head. He stood up, smacking the card back down onto the table and breathed: “Excuse me for a second.” He stepped over to Daenerys’ table. He tapped the bearded man’s shoulder. As he looked up at him, he said: “Hey, I’m Jon.”

The guy looked him up and down. “Alright, Jon, I’m kind of busy here.”

“Right, that’s just it,” Jon said, and he looked from the guy’s confused expression to Daenerys. She was watching him intensely. There was a look of pleasant surprise on her face. Jon forced himself not to stare too hard at her, and turned his attention back to the man. “See, I was just talking to Daenerys here-”

“Dany,” Daenerys corrected him brightly.

“Right, Dany,” Jon said, blushing, “and we were in the middle of a conversation-”

“So were we,” the man interrupted, “before you came along.”

“Well, I’d really like it if we could swap partners.”

The man glared at him with incredulity. He then looked over at Jon’s table, surveying the redhead, before turning to Daenerys. His eyes narrowed. He let go of a grunt. Then, he stood up. “Alright,” he said, coughing to the side, “I much prefer the look of ‘er anyway.”

“Bye, Tormund,” Daenerys said with amusement as the man merely stalked off and settled with Ygritte, and she gave Jon a peculiar look as he claimed his seat once more. “What is going on?” she asked.

Jon was flushed with silent pride as he leaned over the table. “A man walks into a sperm bank,” he said, and he nodded for Daenerys to continue.

Daenerys gawked at him, but then composed herself. She had a sip of her wine. She smacked her lips. She said: “A man enters a sperm bank, and the doctor says: _Get a load of that guy!”_ She paused. “Did you really come just for the end of the joke?”

“Of course,” Jon said and winked.

Daenerys shook her head, but she was smiling. “What if you just sent away the love of my life?” she teased. “How can I ever forgive you?”

“What if I’m from the future and I’m saving you from a miserable relationship?” Jon asked and leaned onto the table. Daenerys mimicked him, resting her chin in her hand as he talked: “Maybe I’m making a wrong right.”

“Do you know of the butterfly effect?” she asked. “Maybe you’re making things _worse.”_

“I’ll risk it,” Jon said, but he couldn’t help but quietly ask: “Did I make a mistake?”

“God, no,” Daenerys breathed and rolled her eyes, “all he wanted to talk about was beer and camping. I was getting worried it’d be football next.”

“Did you know grasshoppers don’t watch football - they prefer _cricket.”_

“Please, no more dad jokes!” Daenerys pleaded, and Jon laughed as he promised:

“Alright, no more.” He leaned back in his seat, and he watched Daenerys as she chuckled, her head slightly cocked to the side, silver locks of her hair swaying freely in the air. “I’ve got to ask - why are you here?”

“Honestly?” Daenerys sighed. “My friend. She’s been bugging me for _months_ about getting a date. It’s been going on ever since she hitched up with some guy. Now she wants me to find my _happy ever after.”_

“I know what you mean,” Jon replied with a nod, “my brother is the one who signed me up. He met his girlfriend doing speed dating. Now, we can never just have a quiet night in.”

“Oh, I know!” Daenerys said with exasperation. “I don’t get how people _date_ these days - go out, dance, drink? I just want to sit on the sofa, drink gin, and watch _Seinfeld.”_

Jon perked. “Seinfeld?” he said, surprised.

Daenerys grimaced. “Look, it’s got to be _trash television_ if you’re chilling. I’m not going to pretend I always look like this,” she gestured down herself, “normally, I’m in a pyjamas with slippers on my feet and a slice of pizza in my hands.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Don’t judge.”

“I’m not,” Jon said with honesty. “That’s exactly what I miss - just sitting with someone and being, well, just _being.”_ He too gestured at himself. “I _never_ dress like this either,” he admitted. “Layers make me _sweat.”_

“Well, _that’s_ sexy,” Daenerys laughed, but to Jon’s relief she didn’t look disgusted. “At least you don’t smell.”

“How’d you know?”

“I can’t smell you.”

“Maybe I’m too far away.”

Daenerys’ eyes gleamed. “Maybe,” she said, and she straightened up as she waved for him to come over. “Come on, then, scooch in.”

Jon bit down on his tongue and tried not to smile, but he felt like grinning as he dragged his chair onto the other side of the small table and leaned in, allowing Daenerys to let her nose hover his neck. She was giggling all the while. _Perhaps it’s the wine,_ he thought and, catching her eyes, blushed, _or perhaps it’s something else._ “So?”

Daenerys shrugged. “You smell of cologne,” she said, biting her lower lip as she quietly added: “It’s nice.”

Jon could smell her too; a waft of lemon and sun. This close, the tan lines on her shoulders were visible. He couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering the pale flesh down toward her neckline.

Daenerys reached up and cupped his face, and she turned him back to look into her eyes. “Naughty,” she scolded, teasingly slapping him with the tips of her fingers. Her breath slipped across his lips. It was warm with wine, and sensuality. “That’s not a _speed date_ prize.”

“What kind of prize is it?” Jon asked, tasting his heartbeat in his throat.

Daenerys leaned closer, her nails dragging a this beard, her eyes closing as she breathed:

“Swap!” The sound from the microphone was jarring. Jon jerked upright in his seat in surprise, and he scowled at the speaker. The woman was looking over at him, motioning for him to put his chair back in place. Jon couldn’t help but wonder if five minutes had even passed, or if she just took issue with him.

“That was five minutes too little,” Jon mumbled, but he begrudgingly got up and pulled his chair back in position. The legs scraped loudly across the stone floor.

Daenerys watched him with a pained expression. “I wish we had five more minutes,” she said.

The men were getting up and moving about. Jon still remained standing, staring down at Daenerys, his face scrounged up in thought. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to see a guy with blond hair and a scruffy chin.

“I think it’s my turn,” the man said. As Jon gave him a peculiar look, he added: “I’m thirty-five.”

“I never asked.”

The man grumbled: “No, but everyone has been _assuming_ I’m outside the age-range.”

“Tell me about it!” Cersei called from the other side of the room.

The man turned to Daenerys. The expression on his face immediately softened and, when Daenerys held out her hand, he took it in his and bowed down to kiss it. “What a pleasure,” he said, “my name is Jorah.”

“Daenerys,” Daenerys replied, her smile awfully stiff.

Jon looked between Jorah and Daenerys, and then over at Ygritte. Tormund was still holding her hands, and they looked deep in conversation, either unaware of the announcement or unbothered by it. The table next to her was missing a gentleman, the woman sitting there looking confused. Before Jorah could take a seat, Jon pulled the chair away by the backrest. “Sorry, mate,” he said, and he nodded toward the single woman, “she’s free.”

Jorah sent him an odd look. “It’s my turn with this young lady,” he said, gesturing at Daenerys.

“Yes,” Jon admitted, “but we were right in conversation-”

“What a shame,” Jorah interrupted. He grabbed the chair from Jon’s hands and pulled it back toward him. “I’m sure you’ll find your next date just as pleasant.”

Jon licked his teeth, but, once again, before Jorah could sit, he pulled the chair back. “You look like a gentleman,” he said, “I’m sure you won’t mind me stealing a minute of this _young lady’s_ time.”

“Guys-” Daenerys started, but her voice was drowned out by Jorah:

“In fact, you have,” he reached for the chair, “and in fact, _I would_ mind.”

Jon pulled so hard at the chair to claim it back that it fell over, banging to the floor. All the other couples grew silent, and Jon felt his cheeks grow bright red with embarrassment.

The woman left the microphone and walked over, her eyes wide and confused. “What is going on?” she asked.

Jorah pointed to Jon. “He won’t leave!”

“We were having a conversation,” Jon said, gesturing between himself and Daenerys.

“We were,” Daenerys agreed, nodding at the woman.

“I saw,” the woman replied, “didn’t look like much talking to me.” As Daenerys’ cheeks grew pink, the woman sighed and crossed her arms. “Look, folks, this is a _speed dating_ event. You get five minutes each. If you like each other, you both put down each other’s name, and we will send you the contact details.”

“You can have my business card,” Jorah said, pulling a little square from his pocket and handing it to Daenerys. “It’s _easier.”_

“You know what’s easy?” Jon asked. “A date at the pub. Just talking, just chilling.” He looked at Daenerys. She peered back at him with a smile.

Jorah scoffed: “The pub is no place for a lady-” but Daenerys got onto her feet in the same.

She grabbed her handbag off the floor and pulled her jacket more tightly around her frame as she stepped around the table, in between the men, and looked up at Jon. “Do you know somewhere?” and, as she held out her hand, Jon beamed and took it.

“Of course, follow me.” They left, hand in hand, into the cool evening air. As they made their way down the busy London streets, their steps quick and their lips chuckling, a childish excitement about _running off_ filling them, Jon couldn’t help but ask: “So, the prize.” He glanced down at Daenerys and she sent him a confused look. “You said: _that’s not a speed dating prize._ So, what kind is it?”

Daenerys smiled. She squeezed his hand. “Play your cards right,” she hummed, “and you might just find out.”

And as Jon looked into her glimmering eyes, he thought to himself: _perhaps speed dating is not so bad after all._

**Author's Note:**

> This story was definitely a lot of fun to write. Besides Jon and Daenerys (obviously), who would you have asked for a second date? I think Brienne and Yara definitely have my heart..
> 
> Another gorgeous drawing by DragonandDirewolf that has also become a gif! Please check out her Tumblr to see it in action as AO3 will only allow pictures to be uploaded.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
